


I'll be okay

by ProblemBacteria



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Other, Protective Genji Shimada, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, and talks them though their anxiety attack, genji is supportive and wants to help reader, no mention of readers gender, reader talks down on themselves a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 11:53:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8532040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProblemBacteria/pseuds/ProblemBacteria
Summary: Reader has an anxiety attack at work and leaves early. Genji finds out.





	

You were scared, plain and simple. You made one simple mistake that could be fixed, but your brain refused to slow down. Suddenly, it felt like your whole world was falling apart, and all you could do was be a witness. You forgot to file a report at your office, and an intern pointed it out. With a shaky smile, you tell them you'll take care of it on your laptop at home. They pay no mind and go off talking to another intern. 

You live close by to your work, and by the time you get to your apartment your out of breath, shaking, and trying your best to open the god damn door--but your hands are shaking too much for the key to get anywhere near the hole and you fear that you just might let out a sob.

With some luck, you get the key in the lock. You stumble into your apartment, falling against the door to close it behind you. You could feel the tip of your nose going numb, along with your fingertips. You scold yourself, telling yourself just to calm down. "It's no big deal, I can solve this," You say, but it doesn't calm your heart, and the hot sting of your tears falling down your face doesn't stop. 

Your body feels cold from all your hyperventilating. You try to take a breath and head to your room, and barely do so. Your home is a mess, there's no way around it. 

If anyone looked at you, they wouldn't even think that *this* is how you lived. Empty soda cans and pizza boxes litter your apartment. If it wasn't for your anxiety medication, you'd probably have a few beer bottles scattered around as well. 

As you let yourself fall onto your bed, you couldn't stop your body from shaking even more, letting yourself fully be taken by your anxiety. Sobs erupted from your throat. You felt as if you were losing it, like your body couldn't even stand what you've become. You wouldn't blame it. If you could get away from yourself you would to. 

With a breath, you sought out the one solution you always find yourself going to. You where ashamed, yes. But the brief amount of time where you feel more like a human is worth it in your eyes. 

Making your emotional pain physical makes it easier to death with. 

Or at least, that's what you tell yourself. You don't really know why this is your 'go to' anymore. You know you're making more problems for yourself. You know there are healthier ways to cope. You've been to therapy, you're on medication. 

The box cutter will do just fine, and you let out a sigh of relief when you hold it in your hands. You hike up your jeans to where you could gain access to your thighs. 

When the blade slices through your skin, it feels like nothing more than a scratch. You close your eyes and take a breath. When you open then, you look at the beads of red now forming over that cut.

Another won't hurt.

It looks kind of pretty.

It's not like anyone will see them.

People have seen you scars before and said nothing.

You can just blame it on the cat.

By the time you're done, you're still shaking. Tears still stain your face. Your nose is still numb. All that's changed is that you're breathing steadily, wearing a ruined pair of pants, and bleeding over your sheets. You sigh again today, placing the box cutter on your bedside table. You stand and keep a hand on the wall, you don't want to fall now. You need to shower. You smell like snot, sweat, and blood. 

But then you hear a knock at your door. You froze. 

If you just ignore it, then it'll go away. 

"(Name)? You home? I stopped by your work to bring you lunch, but they said you left early."

Genji? Oh, god, not him. Not now. 

"I hope you don't mind me coming in, they said you looked pretty sick." 

You looked sick? Who said that? Who was looking at you? Did they all know? Why-- but you where snapped from your thoughts as you heard the door knob turn. "--Please don't come in!" You burst. Your heart is speeding up again, you could feel panic rise in your chest. 

"...(name), are you alright?" He asks from the other side of the door, but you could tell he still had his hand on the door knob. 

You breath, "I'm fine, please don't come in." You pause and try to find the right words. "I, I-"

"Forgive me if I'm overstepping my boundaries, but you don't sound fine. I'm coming in." His voice was calm, you knew you couldn't fool him. He used to be in overwatch for gods sake.

But now he follows the teachings of a monk. And somehow, is worrying about you.

You snap back out of your thoughts and close your bedroom door. Think fast, think fast--you can bandage your leg and put on a pair of sweatpants--talk to him long enough to get him to think nothing is wrong, then you can--

"How many doors are you going to make me open?" You hear his synthetic voice say from the other side of the door you just closed. 

He saw your apartment. Your gross apartment. He probably thinks you're a slob and wants nothing to do with you now, he--

"(Name)," his voice was calm, and calm enough to concern you. You can't let him know. "Please, what's wrong? You are acting strange"

"Leave, Genji. I'm fine." You say.

"If you are fine, open the door."

You do not respond. You could hear a sigh on the other side of the door. You're trying to clean up your wounds as fast as you can, but you cut deep and the blood won't stop. 

You try not to cry.

You try to hold it together. 

You're an adult. 

You can handle this. 

You wipe up the blood running down your leg with as much determination as you had when you were younger.

You will not let anyone see you like this.

Even though you just want someone to see what has happened. You want someone to know how sick you are. You want someone to understand. You want to be told it's alright. But you can't say it. You can never say that. Because you'll just look like you want attention. You'll look like a child.

You go to therapy, your on medication. You should be done with this. 

Your throat feels raw. Your face feels hot. Your vision is blurring. Those hot tears are threatening to fall again today and you wonder how you let it get this far. 

You hear the door knob wiggle. Is he...picking the lock? 

What the hell did they even do in overwatch for him to know how to--

Oh.

Oh no. 

 

"(Name)" he stands in the doorway. Looking at the bloody sheets, the blood drops on the floor from when you tried to clean up earlier, then to yourself--the source.

You open your mouth but words fail to meet you halfway. 

You're frozen. 

"I'm going to get a washcloth from the bathroom, okay? Don't move." 

You were expecting him to be disgusted, disappointed, anything but what his is right now. 

What is he right now?

You can't exactly read his face, his visor in the way. 

He kneels next to you without a word, cleaning your wounds better than you would ever. He's careful. 

You couldn't deal with it. The tears start falling again and you just feel so weak. You're an adult, you can't do the most basic things, and now you're burdening him with your pathetic anxiety. 

You fumble out so many “I'm sorry's” and "you don't have to"s that it sounded like anything but English.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he says. "I came here to check up on you. I was worried. I'm happy to be able to be here right now, understand?" He places the bloodied wash cloth on the night stand. 

He takes of his visor as he sits next to you. You've seen his face before, but you never really looked at his eyes as much as you are now. "I'm your friend, (Name). I don't want to see you in pain. I have learned much about emotions, I struggle with many things. I have bad days where I don't even want to leave the temple."

You look at your hands in your lap, not knowing what to exactly do. "But I see you out working, everyday. No matter what, you wake up every morning. Do not think yourself weak for having emotions." He says, his hand now rests on your back, drawing circles with his fingers on your skin in a soothing way. “You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

The tears won't stop now. They feel like hot lava rushing down your faces as you bite your lip. You try to hold your breath but you could. You tried to do everything in your power not to cry anymore but--”(Name), it’s okay for you to cry. I’m here, I’m not leaving.” 

You found yourself being held as sobs erupted from yours throat. Everything that has built up is suddenly trying to escape. You here him mutter, “I’ve got you”, “You’re safe,” “I’m here” in a voice that cared too much.

 

What have you’ve done to deserve someone who cares? You don’t know. You still feel horrible. You still feel like a failure. 

 

But.

 

Something about having Genji hold you through this, it makes it hurt less. It makes you feel more real. It feels like one day, you might be okay. 

 

One day.

 

For right now though, you’re fine with Genji just holding you.

**Author's Note:**

> This was from my diary, actually.  
> I wrote what I needed someone to say to me. I hope that this can help anyone else like it helped me.


End file.
